


How It Begins

by WeWillAvengeIt



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeWillAvengeIt/pseuds/WeWillAvengeIt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which The Shakespeare and Company bookstore is almost overrun by the undead and Grantaire really needs a drink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How It Begins

There is something implicitly horrifying about the dead coming back to life. Dead things are just that: dead. Dead things shouldn’t go down and get right back up. They shouldn’t have limbs removed and keep coming at you, and they damn sure shouldn’t attack the living with the intent of ripping your head from your body and eating your internal organs.

But during the past year they've been doing just that. Dragging their limp carcasses from the ground and lumbering after anything with a pulse. It’s terrifying, and everyday feels like a horror movie (except in this movie there is no fast forward button; he has to live through every single awful second of every single awful day and it’s starting to take its toll).

Right now Grantaire is drinking (nothing new really, he can’t shoot without a blood alcohol content above .08 it seems, which doesn’t really make any sense, but his depth perception is fucking awesome even when he’s on his way to tipping over) and right now Grantiare is holed up in some book shop in the middle of Paris (he thinks it might be _Shakespeare and Company _, but he’s not certain) and right now he can hear the sounds of the dead shuffling around in front of the boarded over windows.__

(He stopped being afraid of the shuffling four months in. It’s the moaning that gives him nightmares.)  


He’s been here two days. There’s no food in the little store, but that’s fine. He’d managed to save some vodka from the last placed he’d taken refuge in. If he’s quiet and ignores the need for food (he’s probably too good at it by this point if he’s being completely honest with himself) he can last at least one more day in here before he’ll be forced to venture out.

About half way through some book he’d grabbed off a random shelf (he checks the cover; it’s _The Prince _, by Machiavelli, something he hasn’t read since his days in school) he hears a sound that almost stops his heart: the back door is rattling frantically.__

__There’s no moaning, but Grantaire knows that means nothing._ _

__(If you can knock off an undead’s jaw they become incapable of making any sort of noise associated with the vocal cords. It’s almost gotten him killed on at least four occasions.)_ _

__Every movement he makes now is calculated, slow, quiet._ _

__(oh god, what if he dies here in this little bookstore what if he becomes one of them what if he-)_ _

__He calms his racing thoughts and reaches for his gun, kept close to his side and loaded at all times. The book is set down next as he creeps toward the back room (and subsequently the back door). He holds the gun like the cops in those cheesy TV shows used to, but there’s nothing cheesy about what he can do with it. Killing the undead hardly fazes him at this point._ _

__And really he’s not even afraid of death; dying isn’t a big deal._ _

__It’s coming back to life and dragging his rotting body around mindlessly in search of something living to sink his infected teeth into that scares him. But that doesn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, mean he wants to die. For some reason he has a killer survival instinct in the face of the undead._ _

__The back door has stopped rattling on its hinges, and there’s a more subtle noise now. Almost like a lock being picked…_ _

__And then he hears it. A moaning that sets his teeth on edge and sends shivers running up and down his spine and his stomach clenches and oh god, he hates the undead so so so much._ _

__There’s a small squeak (wait is that-) and suddenly the door flies open._ _

__Grantaire jumps about twenty feet in the air (later he’ll deny it. “Please, Pontmercy, like _you _could actually scare me”) and fumbles with his gun as two people crash ungracefully to the floor before the boy jumps up to slam the door shut.___ _

____(And damn, there’s about twenty undead in the alleyway behind the shop. Looks like going for supplies is out of the question now. Hell, _surviving _this might be out of the question now)___ _ _ _

______The boy throws his body against it, panting heavily and vaguely resembling a cartoon character, while the girl simply looks up at him from the floor with wide eyes.  
“I swear to everything that is good and holy on this earth, if you two get me killed I will haunt your asses in the next life.” Grantaire growls, his voice hoarse from lack of use. He doesn’t put his gun down, but he does point it away from them as he runs over to one of the filing cabinets in the back room, ripping it away from the wall._ _ _ _ _ _

______The girl scrambles up, coming over to help him drag it to the door. She’s small and blonde with large blue eyes, and smeared with more dirt than any street urchin he’d ever seen. Together they’re able to maneuver it into place while the boy (gangly and auburn haired with expressive eyes and covered in about as much dirt as the girl) runs over to the heavy desk in the corner and tries to tug it over to join the filing cabinet. Neither of them say anything, but they’re panting like they’ve just run a marathon._ _ _ _ _ _

______Grantaire decides that they’re trustworthy enough (there are no obvious bite marks on them, and the only weapon he can see is what looks like a small paring knife, still in its case, on the girl’s belt and damn were they _trying _to get eaten?) so he tucks his gun away before moving to help with the desk.___ _ _ _ _ _

________After that they push the only other furniture to be seen in the small room (another smaller filing cabinet and a run-down looking sofa) in front of the door and hastily retreat into the main bookshop area. Grantaire can hear the undead beating on the door in desperation and moaning and fuck, he really needs the rest of that vodka._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I’m Marius, and this is Cosette,” the boy says quietly, gesturing to the girl. Cosette shuts the backroom door and walks to his side, taking quick, steady steps. She fits herself comfortably under his arm, both hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt. Grantaire can tell they’ve been doing this for a while._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He nods and slumps into the nearest armchair, silently hoping (funny, he’s not used to hoping anymore) that the dead will become bored with this chase; that they won’t burst into his temporary sanctuary and kill them all. “My name’s Grantaire. You can call me R though.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The bottle of vodka that had been abandoned in his haste to get to the back door is lifted from the floor, and Grantaire takes a long sip, luxuriating in the burning sensation the alcohol provides. Cosette raises an eyebrow, but wisely elects not to say anything._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She steps away from Marius then, sitting on the floor and leaning against a bookshelf directly across from Grantaire before motioning for Marius to come over. They curl up together; Marius laying his head on her chest and Cosette puting a protective hand on his head, running her fingers through his hair lovingly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“So Grantaire,” Cosette starts,_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________(He likes the way she says his name, almost like she’s testing it out on her tongue, melodic voice twisting it into something interesting)_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“how did you end up here?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Grantaire goes still, bottle paused on its way to his mouth, and stews over his answer for a few seconds. “You know, I don’t know if I wanna talk about that.” He mutters, looking away from the couple. She nods, and Grantaire doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful for someone not prying._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Marius and I have been trying to get out of Paris for about a week now. It’s not going very well, obviously.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Why aren’t you carrying more weapons?” He asks quietly, giving them another once over._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Cosette pales slightly, and Maruis answers for her. “There’s nothing left. I didn’t own anything aside from kitchen knives (Ah, that explains it) before the first outbreak, and there’s never any weapons left whenever we stop in somewhere.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Grantaire nods, thinking about his rifle and machete, thrown haphazardly in a duffle bag under his chair. “You guys must be really good at running then. Where are you heading that’s not Paris?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Does it really matter?” Cosette asks. He can’t deny that she has a good point. ”There’s no food, no weapons; Paris is out of resources. It’s time for us to move on.”  
Hesitantly, Marius asks, “Would- would you like to come with us?” _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________(Grantaire’s pretty sure they’re afraid of him, or at least Maruis is. Cosette doesn’t seem the type to be afraid of drunken men with guns.)_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Grantaire stops to think for a second. He’s never even thought about leaving Paris. The city is eternal; if there are no humans left then it falls to the dead, something Grantaire doesn’t like thinking about. Then again, if he doesn’t leave he may end up undead, something else he doesn’t like to dwell on._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“We have to survive the night first; you know how they are when it gets dark,_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________(frenzied, like sharks after blood)_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________but if we end up not dying, yeah, I’ll go with you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________(It turns out to be one of the best decisions Grantaire’s ever made.)_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've ever written Les Mis wise, so yeah, hope it was alright!


End file.
